


Holiday in France

by cherryblossomwrites



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Fluff, Multi, POV Ron Weasley, Polyamory, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-12
Updated: 2018-08-12
Packaged: 2019-06-26 05:46:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15656970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherryblossomwrites/pseuds/cherryblossomwrites
Summary: With the war finally over, Harry, Ron and Hermione escape to a cottage to recover. As they begin to relax, romantic feelings begin to emerge. Ron's POV





	Holiday in France

It’s late June when we arrive in the sleepy seaside town in France. With the last of the funerals finally over, Harry had begun preparing to step into his new role as saviour of the wizarding world. Recognising the exhaustion in his eyes, Hermione and I had insisted that three of us go on holiday instead.

The two-bedroom cottage we are staying in is light and airy and only two streets away from the sea. It belongs to Fleur’s family, but Fleur insists that her parents won’t mind missing one summer by the seaside.

It’s late in the evening when we arrive by Floo. Mum had insisted on feeding us one last meal before we left. It doesn’t take long to explore the cottage – open plan living, dining and kitchen downstairs, two bedrooms and a bathroom upstairs. Each of the bedrooms contains a double bed.

‘I think I’m heading for bed,’ Harry says as he stands in the doorway to one of the rooms. ‘See you in the morning, yea?’

I nod my agreement, but Harry’s already making his way into his claimed bedroom.

‘Goodnight, Harry,’ Hermione calls after his retreating back. She turns to me. ‘What about you?’

I glance towards the other bedroom, nerves bubbling up in my stomach. ‘Sleep sounds good.’

We head towards our room simultaneously and try to squash through the door together.

Hermione sighs. ‘After you,’ she tells me.

Getting ready for bed is a quiet affair. I wonder if Hermione is as nervous as I am. Our relationship is still very new and, quite frankly, kinda awkward. It feels too soon to be sharing a bed. But it seems we don’t have a choice.

Finally, we both make it into bed. Hermione immediately snuggles up against my chest. I feel myself begin to relax. Maybe this isn’t so bad after all.

 

I sit bolt upright, wide awake. I have no idea why though. I’m about to lie back down when I hear it again. Harry’s having another one of his nightmares.

I glance down at Hermione who’s starting to stir. ‘Go back to sleep,’ I whisper. ‘I’ll be right back.’

Getting out of bed, I cross the hallway to Harry’s room. He’s still fast asleep, pained expression on his face.

‘No!’ he calls out, loud and insistent. ‘Don’t. Please don’t.’

I sit down on the empty half of his bed. ‘Hey, shh, you’re alright,’ I tell him.

Harry’s face scrunches up further. ‘No. No, no, no.’

One of his hands is flung across the bed and I take hold of it in both of my own. For a moment, I imagine the Fred and George of my childhood, the jokes they would have made, accusing me of being gay. It’s almost enough to make me let go of Harry’s hand. I don’t though.

Gradually, Harry starts to wake up. ‘Ron?’ he mumbles once he’s cracked an eye open.

‘You alright, mate?’ I ask.

‘Bad dream.’ He rolls from his back onto his side, facing me. He squeezes my hand which is still holding his.

‘Do you want me to stay?’ I rub my thumb over his knuckles as I speak. ‘Just till you fall asleep?’

‘Yes please.’

It doesn’t seem like it’ll take long. He’s already drifting back towards sleep.

Five minutes later, I’m back in my own bed, wrapping an arm around Hermione’s back. She wakes up just enough to tuck her head under my chin.

 

When I wake in the morning, the bed is empty. By the time I get downstairs, the place smells of fresh bread. Harry is stretched out on the sofa, apparently having a nap. Hermione is on the ground in front of the coffee table, cup of tea in hand with tiny pieces of colour strewn in front of her.

‘Morning,’ I say through a yawn.

Hermione turns to look at me. ‘Did you want a cup of tea?’

I nod. Hermione flicks her wand and, several moments later, a mug is floating its way over to me.

‘Thanks.’ I take a sip before sitting down in an armchair. I watch for several moments as Hermione moves the bits of colour around. ‘What are you doing?’ I ask eventually.

‘It’s called a jigsaw,’ she says without looking up. ‘I bought it from a shop down the road on my way back from the bakery.’

‘But what do you do?’ I ask.

‘The pieces go together to form a picture.’ As she speaks, she joins two pieces together.

I watch her work for a minute or two, trying to understand. ‘Surely there’s a spell that would do that?’

Hermione sighs. ‘That’s not the point, Ron.’

I glance over at Harry. He’s awake now and watching the two of us with amusement.

‘Have you ever heard of these jigsaws?’ I ask him.

He nods. ‘My aunt used to do them. Sometimes I’d put a few pieces together when she wasn’t looking.’

‘It seems daft,’ I say.

‘Well, I enjoy them,’ Hermione retorts. ‘Anyway, now that you’re awake, we can have breakfast.’

 

After breakfast, Hermione returns to her jigsaw and Harry returns to napping on the sofa. I find a Muggle novel on a bookshelf and curl up in an armchair to read.

The next few days continue in much the same way. Each night, I comfort Harry when he has nightmares. Each day, he spends his time napping. Hermione and I puddle around the house, reading and doing jigsaws. It’s not overly exciting, but it sure beats being in the middle of a war.

 

I wake up to the realisation that I can’t feel my arm. I glance over at the mop of black hair resting on my shoulder. Apparently I didn’t make it back to my own bed last night.

I watch Harry as he sleeps, his face unfamiliar in its peacefulness. I find myself breathing in time with him – long and slow and calm.

The door creaks slightly as it’s pushed open wider. Hermione enters, floating a tray in front of her. She places it on the bedside table before preparing herself a cup of tea and settling down on the end of the bed.

I glance wistfully at the tray of tea. There’s no way that I can sit up with Harry sleeping on my shoulder. And any attempts at drinking tea while lying down will result in me spilling it all over myself.

I turn back to Harry. His messy fringe is falling into his eyes and I use light fingers to rearrange it. I feel Hermione shift slightly and I glance over at her. She’s trying to hide behind her tea, watching the two of us with an indulgent expression.

As I make eye contact with her, it’s almost as if I’m aware of a tangible secret blossoming up between the two of us. The only issue is, I have no idea what that secret might be.

 

Harry is more awake today and we actually make it out of the cottage, visiting a café for lunch.

‘I can’t remember the last time I slept so well,’ Harry tells us as he eats a chocolate-filled pastry.

Hermione smiles. ‘Maybe the two of you should share a bed every night.’

I’m pretty sure Hermione’s joking, but Harry seems to miss the memo. He turns to me, eyes wide.

‘Don’t feel you have to,’ he says.

I consider him for a moment, seeing the desperate hope in his eye. The one who always protects wanting – no, needing – protection. It’s an easy decision. ‘I really don’t mind,’ I say.

And, just like that, our world shifts ever so slightly.

 

The setting sun casts long shadows through the living room. Hermione is onto her third jigsaw now and, somehow, she’s roped Harry and me into helping.

‘We should play truth or dare,’ she says as she works on a section of sky.

I glance over at Harry who frowns.

‘Aren’t we a bit old for that?’ I ask. ‘Can’t you just ask whatever’s on your mind?’

Hermione looks a little put out at being so easily seen through. She puts another four pieces together before she speaks again. ‘Ron, would you ever consider dating a man?’

‘Sure,’ I say, easily, ‘if it were the right bloke.’ And then, because she’s my girlfriend, I add, ‘sorry.’

Hermione shakes her head. ‘It’s fine.’ And, honestly, she looks a little too pleased with herself.

While the question seems a little out of left field, it’s a concept that I’ve considered before. It doesn’t happen often, but there have been a few blokes I’ve been into. Oliver Wood. Viktor Krum. I suspect I’m destined to only ever fall for quidditch players.

Hermione is turning to Harry now. ‘What about you?’ she asks.

Harry looks up from the flowers he’s working on. ‘What about me?’

‘Would you ever date a man?’

Harry shrugs. ‘I’ve never thought about it.’ His face screws up in thought. ‘I’ve never thought to think about it.’

Hermione continues to ask us questions and I ask her a few in return. But it seems like she led with the questions she was most interested in. The further questioning seems to be an attempt to throw us off the scent. It all seems rather odd.

 

We make it to a week of Harry and me sharing a bed. He’s bright-eyed and bushy-tailed now. It feels unusual.

Each morning begins with Hermione bringing tea up to our room. We all sit on our own corner of the bed, studiously ignoring the fact that Harry and I have spent the last eight hours cuddled together. At least, that’s what I think about as I drink my tea.

‘We should go swimming,’ Harry announces one morning as he finishes the last of his tea.

Hermione seems keen and I can’t find a decent reason to disagree. So, after breakfast, the three of us make our way down to the sea.

We’ve barely made it onto the sand before Harry’s stripping off his t-shirt. ‘Last one in’s a rotten egg,’ he calls before racing off across the sand.

My mind goes in three different directions at once – rotten egg, shoulders, sunburn – so I’m a long way behind both Harry and Hermione. I’ve barely caught up to them before Harry is tackling me into the water. From there, the concept of a swim seems to quickly devolve into play fighting.

 Much later, as we sit on our towels in our swimsuits, eating ice cream, I find myself returning to thoughts about Harry’s shoulders. They’re so broad and his muscles are more defined than I expected. Seeing him shirtless is almost as distracting as seeing Hermione in a bikini.

I find myself focussing all my attention on my ice cream, not able to look at either one of them.

 

‘I don’t think I know who I am,’ Harry announces at breakfast one morning. ‘Or what I want.’

Hermione considers him thoughtfully. ‘What do you mean?’ she asks.

Harry shrugs. ‘I’ve spent the last seven years trying not to die. That’s always been taking up part of my brain, at the expense of everything else.’

‘That’s all over now though,’ I tell him.

‘I know,’ he agrees. ‘But I feel like I’m so far behind. There’s so much I don’t know.’

‘Like what?’ I ask.

‘What I want to do with my life, who I want to be.’ He studies his plate. ‘Heck, I don’t even know if I’m straight.’

I narrowly avoid choking on my tea.

Hermione smiles sympathetically at me before turning her attention to Harry. ‘You’ve got the rest of your life to answer those questions. And this holiday’s the perfect time to start.’

‘I suppose,’ Harry agrees. But he doesn’t seem convinced.

 

As the days pass, I start to realise how odd this situation is. How have we ended up like this?

I’m becoming more and more preoccupied by Harry. And it’s not even to the exclusion of Hermione. I absolutely still want to be with her. But that doesn’t make my feelings about Harry any more bearable.

One evening, they all get to be too much. The minutes continue to slip by, closer and closer to bedtime. The thought of sharing so much personal space with Harry is more than I can handle.

‘I’m going for a walk,’ I announce as I shut my book.

Hermione gives me a concerned look. ‘It’s kinda late.’

I just shrug and make my way out of the cottage. I find my way down to the sea. I sit on the sand and stare out into the darkness, letting all my thoughts be drowned out by the crashing of the waves.

At least two hours pass before I return. The house is in darkness. I make my way upstairs, lit wand extended before me. I enter Harry’s room, ready to curl up next to him.

To my surprise, I find Hermione there, snuggled up against Harry. I consider retreating, going back and sleeping in my old bed. But before I’ve even made a decision, I’m slipping into the bed behind Harry, becoming his big spoon.

 

Once again, it seems we have a new normal. Harry’s sleep seems to be prioritised above all else and it seems that he sleeps best when both Hermione and I are there. Although, to be perfectly clear, I am not complaining.

After one such of these nights, Harry wakes all smiley and bubbly. ‘I’m going to cook us breakfast,’ he announces.

Hermione offers to help but Harry insists on doing it alone. He practically leaps out of bed as he talks about popping down to the farmers’ market.

I listen as he goes running down the stairs. There’s a brief moment of quiet, and then the front door bangs open and closed.

I look across the bed to Hermione, who’s smiling faintly. She reaches out a hand, taking hold of one of mine. ‘You like him,’ she says. ‘Don’t you?’

‘I – ’

Hermione cuts me off. ‘It’s ok. I like him too.’

The simultaneous feelings of relief and hope leave me feeling slightly nauseous. ‘You do?’ I ask.

She nods.

‘But what does that mean though? What do we do?’

Hermione frowns, thinking. ‘Well, first we need to find out how he feels.’

‘And then what?’ I find myself holding my breath.

‘Then, maybe, all three of us date.’

I exhale sharply. ‘We can do that?’

‘We can. But only if Harry’s on board.’

 

When Hermione and I make it downstairs, Harry is in the kitchen, frying bacon.

‘It’s almost ready,’ he tells us.

Hermione crosses the tiled floor to him. ‘Thanks for cooking,’ she tells him. She kisses him on the cheek, right on the corner of his mouth.

‘That’s ok,’ Harry says, looking decidedly dazed.

For a moment, I consider following Hermione’s lead. Instead, I just pull Harry into a sidehug. ‘Yea, thanks Harry.’

Harry hugs back. ‘It’s really nothing.’ Even still, he’s looking decidedly pink around the ears.

 

It’s late afternoon, and the three of us are just lazing around. Harry is sitting on the couch, staring off into space. Hermione lies next to him, her head in his lap. I’m in my armchair, trying to read the last few chapters of my novel, but concentrating is proving difficult.

As I look up from my book for the millionth time to glance over at Harry and Hermione, I catch Harry watching me. He doesn’t look away and for a moment we just stare at each other, the moment heavy between us. Eventually, he drops his gaze to Hermione and starts running fingers through her hair.

‘I think,’ he says after a moment, ‘that I’ve figured out some of what I want.’

Hermione turns her head to look up at him. ‘Yea?’

‘Yea. I just don’t know if they’re things I’m allowed to want.’

My tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth.

‘What do you mean?’ Hermione asks.

Harry shrugs, but doesn’t say anything.

‘You alright?’ I ask after several moments.

‘It just feels like everyone expects so much of me,’ Harry says with a sigh. ‘I don’t know if I can keep being this hero that they expect.’

Hermione strokes Harry’s cheek with her thumb. ‘You don’t have to be. Not if you don’t want to.’

Harry takes hold of the hand that is cupping his face, presses his lips to it. ‘Thank you.’ He looks across at me. ‘Both of you. You can’t even imagine how much you both mean to me.’

I just smile at that, aware that we probably can.

 

As the morning light tries to peek past the curtains, the three of us are once again curled up in bed.

Harry, lying on his back, turns his head back and forth to look at both Hermione and me. ‘Sorry that I keep getting in the way of your relationship,’ he says.

He looks sheepish, but part of me suspects that he isn’t really sorry at all.

Hermione leans forward, placing a kiss on his shoulder. ‘What if we want you in the way?’

‘What do you mean?’ Harry asks. He seems simultaneously confused and hopeful.

‘What do you think we mean?’ I ask, when Harry turns to look at me.

‘Well, I, uhh, maybe – ’ Harry says before shutting up completely.

‘Do you want to tell him?’ I ask Hermione. There’s no way I could ever find the right words.

Harry turns his attention to her now. I snuggle even closer to him while we wait.

All of Hermione’s attention is on Harry. ‘We want you to date us,’ she tells him. ‘Both of us.’

‘Really?’ Harry asks, turning to look from one to the other of us.

Hermione nods.

‘Absolutely,’ I tell him.

Harry surges forward and kisses me, closed-mouth, with a hand holding my head steady. It’s such a simple kiss and yet, I feel like my heart might explode. After a moment, he turns to Hermione, kisses her too.

‘I can’t believe this,’ he says when he pulls away, covering his face with his hands. ‘It’s all too much. I really can’t believe this.’

‘What do you need?’ Hermione asks.

‘For you to hold me,’ Harry says. ‘For both of you to hold me.’

So we do.

 

Later that morning, I’m in the living room, reading the final few pages of my book. Harry enters the room, freshly showered, and crosses straight to me. Without hesitating, he kisses me, long and slow and lingering. Then, he walks over to Hermione, who is laying the table. Kisses her too.

He smiles. ‘I can’t believe I get to do that whenever I want.’

I just smile back at him. He’s already expressed exactly what I’m feeling. There’s nothing more to be said.


End file.
